


Solenoid with Your Special Someones

by RHplus



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multi, Polygamy, Secret Solenoid, Sixsome, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Telepathy, Transformers Spark Bonds, gestalt bonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22069327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RHplus/pseuds/RHplus
Summary: Prowl works too much. The Constructicons are going to get him to relax on the eve of Solenoid, at least.Secret Solenoid 2019 gift to Gemma.
Relationships: Constructicons/Prowl
Comments: 15
Kudos: 116
Collections: Secret Solenoid '19-'20





	Solenoid with Your Special Someones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GemmaRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/gifts).



> The dubious consent depicted is the Constructicons relying on spark bond telepathy to read Prowl’s emotions more than is polite and trusting that more than words, and Prowl being very contrary.

Prowl knew well that it was Solenoid Eve: he himself had appeared on planetary news in the power of Head of Security on Cybertron to announce that celebrating the holiday had been deemed safe, even advisable. Prowl had encouraged all Cybertronians to open their sparks and spend the cycle with friends and loved ones. Sure, Arcee had told him afterwards that his grim manner had made it all seem suspicious, or perhaps a bad joke, but he’d done it as prompted.

The new Council, various colony representatives, and Starscream “the First” had deemed it good for public morale, all in agreement for once. Encouraging Decepticons, Autobots, and NAILs all to celebrate the ancient holiday of peace and understanding was supposed to let former enemies lower their guard and forge new friendships. Prowl had been forced to admit it was logical enough, even if he had little faith in any of that actually happening. The effort would look good on paper, at least.

In any event, trying to explain to the Constructicons that he might have said it on the news but not really meant it for _himself_ would have been far too troublesome, and Prowl ended up accepting their invitation to spend the night in the industrial hall they had repurposed as their den. It wasn’t the first time, so he had little grounds to refuse now. Arcee had gone so far as to orchestrate a _forced leave_ for the following cycle so Prowl wouldn’t hole himself up in his office and keep working, as he often did.

In his alt mode, Prowl drew up to the fenced-off yard of the Constructicon dwelling, passing through the wide-open gate and transforming in front of the entrance. The gestalt had decked out their usually dreary, cluttered yard with softly glowing synthetic crystals, creating an admittedly impressive view. Luminous white and dimly shimmering black formations were interspersed with chemical green and more sedate dark purple, with an occasional blue or red crystal here and there. Somehow, despite the various colors, it all made for a pleasing whole. Prowl scowled at the display regardless.

Mixmaster and Bonecrusher emerged from behind the corner of the building, both emitting a visible aura of enthusiasm. No doubt the whole gestalt had sensed Prowl coming thanks to the spark bond tying the team together. The construction vehicles lumbered over to him, Mixmaster in particular beaming with pride.

“Do you like the crystals? I synthesized them, all custom made,” Mixmaster said, placing a hand over his spark. Bonecrusher’s inelegant, visored mug somehow communicated a cocked brow ridge as he elbowed his teammate. “Oh, fine: the others helped with raw materials, molds, and placement, but let me tell you: getting the colors right was a challenge, one that _I_ solved.”

Prowl didn’t reply aside from a quiet burst of air through his vents and a roll of his optics, and started off towards the entrance, left invitingly open just like the main gate. He did, however, allow his meticulous hold on the spark bond to slowly ease off, opening himself for the empathic connection. Admitting his reluctant admiration in words would be too much, but he could let Mixmaster and the rest sense it wordlessly from spark to spark.

The heavy-set Cons flanking him both grinned and glanced at each other, but thankfully remained silent. Prowl had more or less trained them well by now.

Inside, the industrial hall had been cleared of any errant materials underpede, and by the looks of it, swept of dust as well. Prowl could already feel a swell of satisfaction that must have originated from Hook, who had no doubt orchestrated the cleaning effort with his usual pedantic insistence. Cleanliness was naturally preferable to mess and clutter, so the fact that Prowl had noticed the change would be all the commendation Hook and the team would get for _that_. It seemed to be plenty enough for the medic in any case.

Scavenger bounded up to them as soon as they had passed the threshold, shovel tail dipping up and down with his bouncy steps. “Boss!” he greeted Prowl with such happiness in his demeanor and EM-projections that Prowl had to scrunch up his face defensively. He still wasn’t used to…well, mechs getting all _excited_ by his mere presence. The opposite was more often the case.

All three Constructicons, and Long Haul and Hook, who now shuffled out from wherever they’d been busying themselves, smoothly ignored Prowl’s troubled expression and gathered around him to offer their greetings. They seemed expectant for some reason, but Prowl crossed his arms under his bumper and flared his doorwings high in a stern angle.

“Alright, I will be spending the night here as requested.” Prowl took a pause and scanned the team of Cons in case they’d slip up and have an outburst of premature celebration, but they all remained respectfully quiet and kept waiting. “However, as I have been _forced_ to take tomorrow off, I will be preparing some documents and guidelines for emergency measures to be followed in my absence. I trust you have my office prepared…?” Prowl questioned the combiner team with a certain threatening severity.

Much to Prowl’s chagrin, the Constructicons looked at each other over his helm, communicating wordlessly with their optics and through the gestalt bond, quicker and subtler than what Prowl could follow even now. Prowl’s mounting scowl was met by a similar one from Hook, who, much as usual, was the one to brave a comment as the second in command. “You are supposed to be taking the evening off,” Hook said in his carefully affected Iaconian accent.

“Yeah, we _risked our lives_ asking Arcee to help make it happen, too,” a frowning Long Haul complained. Prowl bristled visibly, plating ruffling. Treachery! Why was Arcee working with the Decepticon gestalt against him?? Not to even mention the height of _presumption_ of this band of war criminals who had pledged allegiance to Prowl so vehemently, going behind his back to…talk to _his_ friends about his supposedly detrimental lifestyle!

“Aw, boss… Can’t you spend the night with us, just this once?” Scavenger pleaded miserably, backed by the hums and thrums and sad-opticked nods of his gestalt mates. Prowl squinted angrily up at all of them, fists tightening and dentae clenching.

What was he supposed to do when he couldn’t even stay mad at the scheming Constructicons!?

The five remained dutifully cowed and outwardly very sad-looking, but Prowl didn’t miss the splash of pre-emptive joy in their EM-fields, communicated clearly thanks to his and their quantum-linked sparks. They in turn sensed that Prowl was not feeling up to fighting off his overly affectionate combiner team—the whole reason he had ended up even coming over to spend the night. Still, Prowl gave them all the evil optic in turn, until he eventually fluttered his door wings and gave in with a deflating gust of air from his vents.

“Oh, whatever. Right now, I can hardly be bothered to educate you all on why this is _unacceptable_ conduct. You clearly have no idea how much organizing the security effort for all this partying has taxed our division, and me in particular.” Prowl was still talking, but he was snatched up by huge, scratched up hands catching him under his bumper and hoisted against a broad chassis with a clang. Doorwings flattened against rough armor, flared up and open, Prowl squirmed and vocalized an indignant half-shout. “Let go of me, Bonecrusher!”

The bulldozer simply rumbled his engine and snuggled the top of Prowl’s helm, and his teammates made it all the worse by crowding in for a big group hug. “Thanks, boss!” and “Thank you, Prowl!” and such were murmured in his audials, and Prowl felt his internal temperature climb with frustration and almost _no_ affection at all, thank you all _very_ much.

Bonecrusher carried the resigned Prowl, now hanging limply in his crushing grip, across the Constructicon compound to the massive berth they themselves had custom made to fit all six mechs. The others milled happily around Prowl and his captor, talking at him about growing their crystals, making new Energon candies—maybe Prowl would deign to taste-test?—and other such unimportant things.

Soon, Prowl was deposited on his pedes upon the expansive recharge slab, and he turned on his heel, doorwings flapping twice and then quivering with affront. “I should make you sleep alone,” he threatened Bonecrusher, pointing a digit right in his face. The mech did at least have the sense to look repentant, and murmured an apology.

“That’s right, we just want to help you relax,” Scavenger chimed in brightly. “You don’t need to do anything at all tonight, just leave it to us!”

Hook sniffed as he seated himself primly on the berth. “As your medic-“ Prowl interrupted the crane to point out he very much wasn’t Prowl’s medic, in fact: just _a_ medic that happened to be part of this team he was in charge of. Hook made a face, but rebooted his vocalizer and went on without comment. “-I am certainly of the opinion that you should indeed take care and rest at least for this one cycle and a half.” The spark bond positively radiated sincere belief from Hook, and Prowl made a show of sighing again.

“How do you expect simply dropping me in berth will relax me?” he asked drily, hands propped on his hips. Long Haul planted himself on the berth next, making the whole structure shake under his bulk, and Prowl snapped his optics to the giant hauler.

“We could interface ya into a nice puddle of strutless Auto-goo,” Long Haul said with a characteristic lack of decorum, making both Prowl and Hook wince with distaste. Bonecrusher’s optics lit up with excitement, however, and Scavenger wagged his tail with a squee entirely unfitting his frametype.

Mixmaster slid onto the recharge slab from the other side and scooted up next to his medic teammate, grinning smarmily. “Not a bad idea,” he said, laying a hand on the inside of Hook’s thigh, earning a casual elbow to the helm.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s!” Scavenger crawled aboard as well, along with Bonecrusher, who settled on his knees right next to the still standing Prowl. Five red visors or pairs of optics all looked up at him now, glowing hopefully. Slag them all.

“I suppose I will _have_ to let you make this worth my while,” Prowl eventually growled through his gritted dentae, letting the spark bond tell his team he wasn’t _really_ all that opposed to the idea. He rolled his helm at the resulting bloom of yays and smiles and revving engines, raising his hands towards the ceiling with only partly exaggerated exasperation.

The Constructicons were getting good at playing him, learning how to act to make Prowl like it, even if he knew they were doing it on purpose. It was difficult to keep secrets in a gestalt, and even more difficult to keep the members from learning these things about each other. It didn’t help that the builder team spared no effort, either – taking pains to learn Prowl’s likes and dislikes, and making sure to offer him the former. Prowl couldn’t help but be somewhat touched, however reluctantly.

On his knees, Bonecrusher was close to Prowl’s height, and he leaned his face in almost shyly, searching for a kiss. Prowl glared at him for a bit through narrow optics, but did indulge him in the end. Meanwhile, Hook and Mixmaster were sidling closer, reaching out clever hands self-modified for science to rub and pluck at Prowl’s plating. Long Haul’s purring motor felt like it was making the berth itself tremble as he ducked sideways, resting his weight on his arms as he gently headbutted Prowl’s hip and then nosed around it to lick at the front of his pelvic girdle.

Prowl’s cooling fans stuttered on at that point, and he shifted on his pedes, but his weight was caught by Scavenger, now seated right next to him on the side opposite to Long Haul. The excavator was petting Prowl’s glossy thigh with a reverent touch. Moving as one mech, the five slowly nudged and pushed and directed Prowl to straddle Scavenger’s legs in a wide-legged stance.

The air felt hot around Prowl, warmed by five heavy-duty construction vehicles as their engines ran idle, producing charge they all wanted to ground in Prowl. Bonecrusher kept kissing him, hands roaming his bumper and rubbing across the smooth glass of his headlights. He was much more skilled at this than his crude name might lead one to expect, and Prowl found himself responding eagerly, optics dimming as his sensornet bombarded him with a bewildering frequency of caresses all across his frame.

Hook was lewdly kneading and squishing Prowl’s shoulder-mounted wheels, long fingers spanning just wide enough to cover the whole circumference of them, groping them on all sides. Mixmaster was stroking at the seams of his ruffled plating, sending zings of teasing touch and contact electricity through Prowl. Long Haul kept licking at his front, large, wet glossa swiping across the seams of his codpiece. Prowl could hear telling clicks and snaps of unlatching interface panels, and a quiet, vulnerable sound escaped his voice box. He couldn’t even lie down on the berth with the bulky worker frames gathered so tightly around him, but at least they also supported him on his increasingly wobbly legs.

“Prowl, you’re so pretty~” murmured Scavenger, hands bracketing Prowl’s hips, nuzzling his masked face in the small of Prowl’s back and then his aft. Long Haul bent even lower and closer, and dragged his glossa over where Prowl’s valve was hidden under two layers of paneling. He gave in, unable to stop with Bonecrusher swallowing his quiet moan, Long Haul and Scavenger both rubbing their faces in his modesty paneling, and now, a gentle bite joining the groping hands on his wheels, with yet another pair of dexterous hands teasing the hinges of his trembling doorwings.

As soon as the outer armor was out of the way and the protoform-hugging strips of metal shielding Prowl’s valve and spike were bared, Long Haul licked across both of them with even more insistence, rumbling deep in his chassis. The spark bond told them all he could taste Prowl already, smell the ozone… Prowl’s knees buckled briefly, but Scavenger’s hands on his hips caught his weight again. He and Bonecrusher started lowering Prowl down together, and Long Haul reached out a hand to spread Prowl’s legs wider as he was set down so he was straddling Scavenger’s lap. The excavator whined softly as his pressurized spike rubbed Prowl’s rounded aft. Prowl curled his spinal strut slightly, nudging himself encouragingly against the stiff heat. There was no more need for words, now.

Prowl retracted his valve cover, letting Long Haul stick his glossa in the already lubricating opening. He gasped in a low voice and the huge dump truck pushed forwards to reach better, grinding Prowl down against Scavenger who yelped in turn. All five Constructicons kept touching Prowl, mouths and digits all over his charge-sensitized plating, gentle nibbling on his tires, a hard spike bumping against his aft.

Long Haul was tilting Prowl’s hips forwards so he could lick deeper, causing shameless slurping sounds. His glossa teased the delicate sensors around the stretchy rim of Prowl’s valve, and he couldn’t keep quiet with how intense it was all getting. He jerked and stiffened, almost reaching the tipping point when Long Haul closed his lips on his tender protoform and _sucked_ – just because there were all the others too, stoking the heat building inside him, he wouldn’t be revved up _that_ fast otherwise. Right then the big, warm mouth left him and Prowl was left moaning, scowling and trying to refocus his optics.

He couldn’t quite vocalize his discontent, but luckily, he didn’t need to. Many hands lifted him up like he weighed nothing, and Scavenger’s spike was guided into his waiting channel. Prowl sunk on the eager spike with a thick moan, and Long Haul with his ever-surprisingly clever mouth followed, now licking insistently over the strip of metal holding back Prowl’s spike. He couldn’t help it at this point: Prowl let his spike extend right into Long Haul’s waiting intake.

Prowl had to start panting to aid his laboring cooling fans, cables drawing taut all across his frame with the relentless assault of pleasure inflicted upon him by five sets of hands and four mouths, all emphatically linked to him and immediately aware of what not to do, what felt good, and what was too much. Under those circumstances, there wasn’t much Prowl could do but let go.

Blue optics flared brightly as Prowl overloaded, dragging Scavenger along with him. He wasn’t sure who else ended up releasing then, but there were groans and another bloom of pleasure in the gestalt bond, bouncing between them all from spark to spark. Long Haul kept suckling his spike all through it, gratefully drinking his transfluid like it was highgrade.

“There we have one,” Hook said, voice just a little unstable, and Prowl groaned, squeezing down on Scavenger’s spike that was still plugging him. “We would like to overload you until you fall into stasis: is that agreeable, Prowl?”

Prowl whined and scowled, still hanging supported by the Constructicons gathered around him. “I think he’s hungry,” Mixmaster remarked thoughtfully, and the berth moved slightly with someone getting off it. Prowl’s attempt to look was interrupted by Long Haul kissing him on the mouth, this time; Prowl could taste himself.

“Hhmmf, fine,” Prowl managed to slur upon being released from the invasive kiss. There was pleased rumbling and appreciative pets on his curves, and Prowl’s optics flicked to Mixmaster as he crawled back on the berth, a softly glowing jug of energon in hand.

Long Haul yielded his spot to his teammate with but a passing pout, and under Prowl’s perplexed glare, Mixmaster took a healthy swig from the rectangular container. His intake worked as he swallowed some, but then he bent closer to Prowl, free hand sliding behind his neck as he kissed his gestalt leader.

Prowl’s intake flooded with thick energon, sweet but not cloying, and it left behind a tart, sparkling aftertaste as he swallowed to avoid making a mess. It wasn’t a flavor he’d tasted in longer than he could remember: something this complex and refined was a far cry from the bland wartime fuel they’d all subsisted on for vorns and vorns.

“Ah,” Prowl uttered when Mixmaster drew back, and then licked his lips. He hated to admit it, but Mixmaster had done well, and his new cocktail was delicious. It was good then that he didn’t need to say it: the chemist and the whole team besides could tell just by the resonance of their sparks.

Prowl tasted his lips again and Mixmaster smiled smugly before taking another deep draught of his energon. This time, Prowl opened up eagerly and sucked at Mixmaster’s glossa as well as the delectable energon, humming almost happily. The rest of the gestalt around them positively radiated affection, apparently finding the odd mouth-to-mouth fueling highly endearing.

A couple more mouthfuls of fuel, and Mixmaster retreated, though he shared one more fuel-laden liplock with Bonecrusher, who grabbed the chemist’s jaw and angled his face up to meet the hungry kiss. Prowl’s chassis rose and fell with his venting as he watched the much more sloppy making out of the two construction vehicles.

“Better?” Hook asked dutifully, petting Prowl’s helm in a way he should probably have found demeaning, but he couldn’t be bothered right now.

“Yes,” Prowl replied curtly, struggling to maintain the put-upon frown. One of the Constructicons was now kissing his fingers, Scavenger had pulled out, and someone else was purring so loudly against his back that his doorwings were trembling along the reverberating chassis. There was a definite feeling of renewed anticipation in the gestalt bond, and Prowl wasn’t surprised when strong hands lowered him onto his knees on the berth. He slumped forward, braced on his hands, and his door wings twitched limply.

The Constructicons shuffled around him once again without needing any words, moving smoothly like a clockwork forged for the purpose. Mixmaster took position lying on the berth though he had to twist his frame uncomfortably with the big cement drum attached to his back obstructing his movements. His questing hands were on Prowl’s hips, fingering his interface array with definite excitement. Scavenger flopped gracelessly across Mixmaster’s legs and took hold of his rigid spike, remaining hand’s digits delving in his valve without hesitation. The mech behind Prowl turned out to be Hook, who was now smoothing touches across his hips, aligning himself up to breach Prowl’s slick and fluttering valve again.

Raising his face, Prowl came face to face with Long Haul’s twitching, dripping spike. A whine slipped out of his vocalizer, and he swallowed labouredly. “Turnabout is fair play, right?” the biggest Constructicon rumbled, making Prowl tighten around the tip of the connector Hook was easing inside him.

“I thought you were going to let me relax,” Prowl grumbled, casting a brief glare up at Long Haul.

“You don’t have to,” the mech said, annoyingly unaffected. The spark bond told him and the others clearly enough that Prowl did, in fact, want to. Prowl purged hot air from all of his vents instead of saying anything more, and grabbed the huge, charged spike being offered to him.

“Hmngh,” Prowl uttered unintelligibly, opening his mouth wide to lave his glossa around the gently tapered tip of Long Haul’s connector. He couldn’t take it all the way, obviously: making the team’s choice to have _him_ in this position all the more questionable. If it had been his valve, in this frame formatted specifically to match the Constructicons in order to make combining possible, it would have been doable. Prowl had first-hand proof.

Prowl’s focus was disrupted by Mixmaster’s prying glossa finding his spike housing and probing in to invite the connector out to play again. He might have uttered some noises that would have been embarrassing in any other situation, but now they could barely be heard under five labor frame engines and cooling fans running. Hook was sinking in ever deeper, as well, pushing Prowl forwards so he ended up nuzzling the spike that should have been grossly beyond his frame’s specs. Distantly, Prowl could tell that Bonecrusher was now grinding against Long Haul’s wide aft, his hands visible as they groped the truck’s front. Prowl watched thick, clumsy digits tease the seams below Long Haul’s chest and on his valve housing.

He couldn’t even think at this point, feeling like his individual processing was melting into the gestalt’s shared arousal – kind of like when they combined, but much less angry than it had been whenever Prowl had taken part, and more…horny. The crude phrasing wasn’t Prowl’s own, but it was the only one that came to him at the moment. More horny, and calm despite the wildly surging electric charge shared by them all, and perhaps even _loving_.

Moments seemed to meld together into an ozone-scented jumble, intensely pleasurable. It was as if he wasn’t only Prowl anymore, the way he was feeling everything all at once: a long connector delving deep inside him, someone sucking his spike joyfully as well as a little mouth sloppily kissing and sucking on it, hands and glossae on him, careful dentae, friction, charge, pressure.

The next thing Prowl could recall with any clarity was a processor-blowing overload that seemed to hit them all one by one, making them shake and shout and discharge visible bursts of brightly sparking excess electricity. For some reason, however, it seemed to hit Prowl the hardest, and he found himself crashing into a strutless heap just as promised.

His team caught him, though, and his gasping frame was pulled into a purring embrace of thick arms and clumsy digits, and uncomfortably heavy worker class armor piling on top of him. As soon as he had his internal temperature somewhat under control, Prowl whined plaintively, and was given some air as Hook rolled off of his back and Long Haul moved his huge mitts to grab someone else’s kibble.

Prowl felt overheated and sticky, but much too comfortable to move. At length, purring gently, Mixmaster dragged himself and Prowl’s pelvic girdle close so he could carefully lick him as clean as such a primitive method could get him. Hook joined him partway, and Prowl was eventually able to shut his modesty plating over almost passably unsoiled interface components. The Constructicons were providing a similar service to each other, but Prowl was much too tired to participate even had he wanted to.

He blinked dim, blue optics slowly, and his frown was very nearly gone, facial components as slack as the rest of his frame. Prowl supposed he’d have to admit his pet gestalt’s ploy had successfully made him forget his duties at least for a moment, but he was not going to make a statement on whether that was a good thing or not. The Constructicons didn’t care about getting his verbal feedback, though, and seemed disgustingly happy just to have fragged Prowl to the brink of stasis, and to have him lying in a cuddle pile with them on the eve of Solenoid.

Prowl’s ex-vent hissed across Long Haul’s plating. Being the biggest, he had somehow ended up under everyone else, and the rest were all gathered on and around him and Prowl. Forced reboot was coming, Prowl could sense it: he harrumphed one last time and hid his face against blocky, green armor. His spark felt weird and overheated as well, as if it was brimming over. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

The proximity of all the components of Devastator was undeniably a nice feeling, however. It soothed something hard to define in the combiner coding that had taken root in Prowl’s programming, and as he snuggled and was snuggled back tighter, he hazily realized he couldn’t remember _ever_ having been so relaxed.

Maybe just once in a Cybertronian year this sort of a thing could be...permissible.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays and best wishes for the year 2020, Gemma! Thank you for your company and delightful dirty robot conversations on Discord. I hope we can have many more in the coming year.  
> Many thanks to [Perictione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leclairage/pseuds/perictione) and [systemscheck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/systemscheck/pseuds/systemscheck) for beta!


End file.
